Messing With Destiny
by Sarah the Welsh One
Summary: Buffy died. This is what I think should have happened.


Timeline: Just after 'The Gift."  
  
AN: // denotes lyrics, the song is 'Burn Baby Burn' by Ash.  
  
// you're all I have in this teenage twilight  
  
your golden hair and pale blue eyes  
  
but through all the days and the sleepless nights  
  
we have never been satisfied //  
  
"Buffy."  
  
(how can you possibly be alive you fell so far? how can you be hearing Spike talking to you when you hit the ground?)  
  
Open one eye warily and look up at the sky. The sun is still shining, the sky is still murky blue and life goes on without Buffy. Amazing. Disgusting. Kind of an ego dumper.  
  
"Spike?"  
  
Wearing... ... white.  
  
I'm dead.  
  
"That was bloody stupid," he says, doing his patented Hank impression. "You can't mess with destiny, luv. That's when things go wrong." He extends a hand and I take it, pulling myself to my feet. Then I realise he's standing in the bright sunshine without so much as a scorch mark. I'm so dead. "Here I am gettin' ready for the Niblet and here come you, doing the Fosbury flop. Ever considered the high jump? I reckon it could be your forte."  
  
(how can he be here as well did he stake himself for you? could he not continue his unlife without you does he love you that much?)  
  
"Spike," I breathe excitedly. Ego fully restored, naturelement. "Did you-"  
  
"Oh, no," he says dismissively, taking me hand and pulling me along the empty road. "I'm not Spike. That poof. I'm his soul. Welcome to the dead zone, Buff. We're all murderers around here."  
  
(of course he's Spike's soul so he would look like Spike, would he *be* Spike? would you class yourself as a murderer when you killed so much-and the Mayor-he was a person once- and when Faith-)  
  
"Earth to dead slayer," he interrupts with a smirk. "I can see what you're thinkin'. Look."  
  
(how can he-)  
  
The words that appear in my mind materialize in purple smoke in front of me. Spike - Spike's soul - laughs and pulls me along by the hand again.  
  
"Is this - hell?"  
  
"Dunno about that, but it's dull." He laughs at his own joke. "Sorry, no. You're not meetin' the Big L yet."  
  
I frown. "Lebowsky?"  
  
"Lucifer, you silly tart. Jesus," 'Spike' mutters, dragging me along, "they didn't tell me that you'd had a lobotomy."  
  
"I haven't. Where are we going?"  
  
"Halfway house," he says succinctly, opening the door to a white office block we've arrived in front of. He sticks his head inside the door and yells. "Dru! Get your arse out here, this strumpet wants a go."  
  
Drusilla stalks out, looking surprisingly well kempt, and smiles at me. "Hi, Buffy. They're ready for you."  
  
I raise an eyebrow and shoot Spike a look. He shrugs. "Hey, when she had a soul, she was sane."  
  
"So why are you both here?" I ask.  
  
"Because until that wanker body of mine dies, I can neither ascend or descend," he says mournfully. "If only you'd had the guts to stake him when you had the chance. Let's hope Xander does a bit better. Now, on you trot." He shoves me forward and slams the door closed behind me, leaving me in darkness with just a thought running through my mind.  
  
Xander?  
  
(2)  
  
AN: Again, the song is 'Burn Baby Burn' by Ash. Oh, and I loved Doyle. Really. So don't beat me up because I loved Doyle loads. Really.  
  
// tumbling like the leaves  
  
yeah we are spiralling on the breeze  
  
almost to the point of no return  
  
everything will burn baby burn //  
  
"Are you coming in or what?"  
  
"Okay, okay, I'm in. You don't have to get all-"  
  
Someone gives a mocking laugh and the lights snap on, flooding my brain and blinding me for just a little while. "What the-"  
  
"You know, she's not gonna have a clue who I am," someone says conversationally to someone who I guess isn't me.  
  
"So introduce yourself," the other person who isn't me says, and that *is* a voice I recognise.  
  
(but it doesn't make sense- because he still has his soul - what would he be-)  
  
"Oh, she recognised me," Angel says patronisingly, and the man next to him giggles. "Hey, Buffy. Good of you to join us. Took your time, though. Did Spike take you all around the houses to get here? Doyle-oh, Buffy. This is Doyle." He waves his hand like I'm an afterthought. "We have to get a set route for Spike so he just fetches them and brings them straight here. None of this meaningless conversation in between. Get onto it, okay?"  
  
The other guy - 'Doyle' nods simperingly. "Right away. Right away, Angel."  
  
"Okay, guys, when we're done fawning over each other, I have questions," I report, standing up from my undignified pushed-on-the-floor position. "Number one, how can you be here when Angel has a soul? And number two-" I brush the floor spackle off my clothes- "what the hell is going on?"  
  
"Oh, he's not Angel," Doyle says proudly. "He's the-"  
  
"I don't think we need to tell her anything," Angel says hastily. "Quit showing off."  
  
Doyle looks deliriously happy. "He's so dominating," he whispers to me. "I love it when he gets all forceful."  
  
"R-ight," I say, slightly worried and beginning to feel out of my depth. "Before this descends further into full on weirdness, can I ask another question? Spike - sorry, Spike's soul - said something about Xander. I'm just going to assume that you two are kind of the powers that be of this neck of the woods and that you can tell me what's going on. Only because if you don't I'm going to beat it out of you, and that's not going to be pretty."  
  
Doyle looks taken aback and Angel sighs in a most un-Angel-like manner. At least, he never used to sigh like that. Then I sigh, too, because I realise that the Angel I loved probably doesn't even exist any more. It's not like I make an effort to keep in touch, or anything. And now it's too late. "When you- died," Doyle says haltingly, picking anxiously at his fingernails. "There was a big thing with the energy and all. Your energy, the energy from the portal... something... happened."  
  
"Yeah. I died. Surprisingly, I'm up to date with that."  
  
"Something... else," he says carefully. "Pertaining to Alexander Harris. You don't by any chance have any whisky? I'm feeling a little parched."  
  
"No," I say angrily. "Just tell me what's going on with Xander. Or there'll be bruises."  
  
"Yeah... there's kind of a problem with you and the whole causing of bruises," Doyle continues. "See, you're not the Slayer any more."  
  
I look at him. "Read my lips. I got it. What's the deal with Xander?"  
  
"*You're* not the Slayer."  
  
Oh no. Oh no no no-  
  
"Xander is."  
  
(3)  
  
AN: Yeah, I know Xander couldn't be a Slayer, but I don't like that rule, so I changed it. :)  
  
// walk like you're in a daze  
  
unresponsive eyes in a distant gaze  
  
like all the good times have gone away  
  
and the memory leaves a bitter taste //  
  
Okay. No, no; it's okay. I'm not going to get mad or go crazy. Xander's the Slayer. This numbnut said so. So it must be... true?  
  
"How can Xander be the Slayer?" I demand. "Xander's a guy. Haven't you done your research? It's one girl in every generation. She who hangs out in cemeteries. You can't deal this on Xander. It doesn't fit."  
  
"The energy," Doyle says nervously, fiddling with the frayed cuff of his sleeve. "There was some kind of miniature explosion after you- landed. The energy bounced, to put it in layman's terms. It combined with your spirit, which was leaving your body at the time. Xander had the misfortune to be in the vicinity and the energy possessed him. It was purely luck that it affected him and not any of your other friends. Your sister, for instance. She was very lucky not to be hit."  
  
"I doubt if Xander will see it that way," I growl. "It doesn't make sense. *I'm* the Slayer. Faith and me- we're the Slayers. Not Xander. My spirit is here, right here, talking to you. So how can I have possessed Xander like I'm some demon or something?"  
  
"Ah." Doyle continues to fumble with his slave and glances across at Angel. "Perhaps you could explain."  
  
Angel stares forward blankly, ignoring Doyle completely.  
  
"Angel?"  
  
I look from his face back to Doyle's anxiously. "Is he okay?"  
  
"Fine. Fine, I'm sure. Probably needs recharging." To my utter horror and disgust, he reaches underneath Angel's shirt and pulls out a flex of wire with a plug on the end and attaches Angel to a socket in the wall. "Damn robots. Spike told me it'd last forever but it fails all the-" He stops, looking at my face. "Buffy? Are you okay?"  
  
"That's." The words fail me and I reach forward, touching Angel's face. It's stone cold. "That's not. That's not Angel?"  
  
"I tried to tell you earlier," Doyle says apologetically, patting the Angel- thing on the shoulder, "but he gets upset if you admit he's not real."  
  
"What- what-?"  
  
"He's the Angelbot," the Irishman says cheerfully, and the world goes black.  
  
-  
  
"Wake up. Oh, why won't she wake up?" someone who sounds suspiciously like Anya mutters.  
  
"Get up, you lazy tart," someone else - Spike? - mumbles. "Someone wise once said 'spank your inner moppet and get over it'. You'd do well to take her advice."  
  
"I wouldn't call Cordelia wise, exactly," I choke out, and sit up, opening my eyes. I'm in a dingy little room again, and Spike's soul is leaning against the wall, smoking. Anya is sitting on a chair near the window with the blind pulled down, and now you can officially colour me confused. "Anya? Did.. did you-"  
  
"Anyanka," Spike announces boredly. "Before you start askin' stupid questions, she's not Anya; that bit's still on Earth somewhere. This is Anyanka. Demon version of Anya. The part that got removed when she was given back her humanity."  
  
"I'm the tactful version," Anyanka informs me. "Are you going to get up? You've been lying there for hours."  
  
Two thoughts hit me at once. Angel. Xander. "Spike - did you make Doyle a robot version of Angel?"  
  
"Yeah." Spike's eyes glow cold in the dark and he draws on his cigarette. "So?"  
  
"Nothing. Nothing. It's - just weird. That's all." An Angelbot to go with your Buffybot, my mind sings, but I don't say it. No need to say it. I can tell he already knows. "When do I go to hell?"  
  
"Sort of been a bit of confusion about that," Spike says calmly. "As in, your little witch friends want you back. So depending on how you look at it, you're going back to hell sooner than you think."  
  
Little witch friends...? "Willow? Tara and Willow?" I ask, bewildered. "They want me back? What are you talking about?"  
  
"Seems Xander's gettin' a bit big for his boots downstairs," Spike informs me. "Gettin' a bit overexcited about his whole Slayer bit. So they want you back."  
  
"They get to choose?"  
  
"Skills like that, pet, they get to do what they like," he replies flatly. "Doin' their whole magic bit. So I'll be seein' you."  
  
"Buffy Summers. Buffy Summers. Buffy Summers."  
  
I look around for the owner of the voice that doesn't seem to perturb anyone else. "Me? What about me?"  
  
"Full of questions, aren't you?" Anyanka says nastily, and swings open the door, stalking out.  
  
"I-"  
  
"See ya, Buff," Spike says dully, grey curls of smoke furling out of his mouth. "Give Spike a stakin' for me, eh?"  
  
"I-"  
  
He stares at me and shrugs like he's sorry. For what, I don't know. "Scratch a bit harder at that wood, pet."  
  
What?  
  
~ the end 


End file.
